Of Erised
by A Beautiful Insanity
Summary: Every century, a small group of individuals risk all that they have to make a difference. What consequences come at the cost of an ingenious chemist, who perfects the use of invisible armor, only to protect those she loves from a horrific death? They say age and time are mere reflections of one another, and that death being all too aware of time, ages those lost in grief forever.
1. Of Erised 01 The Proposal

_"I show not your face but your heart's desire."  
_

* * *

 _ **The Proposal**_

* * *

The heart is fickle; the mind brilliant if given the right resources; and as far as the soul intertwined between both, a loyalty of humility inherits a most definite desire beyond a single breath of life. Those, who wander but are never lost, bequeath an honorable trait of truth. They see things for what they are, not what they should be. Their sight unhindered by reality and all that it encompasses. Their souls are bound by no laws foreseen by the hand of magic.

"Mari, you're impossible." Laughing in tune with her accusation of my disregard for the gravity of the known predicament. "Haiden Everhart? The lineage of the name alone should speak volumes to you."

Rolling my eyes at the mention of the line once more, I twirl the solid piece of wood between my fingers. When decided on an actual course of rebuttal to the subject matter, I sigh in protest.

"Volumes, of which many have swoon, no doubt. My literary endeavors reserve the right of pride, not lunacy. Therefore, I shall pay my respects to those un-loyal by the word of pen." Smiling back at my friend, she scuffs unrelentingly.

"The one endeavor that excludes magic from the mind, and you manage to abuse its witness to godlike creatures of the sort."

"Liana, please. Godlike?" The wind feathers throughout the woods in small doses, creating a tranquility among the brush of leaves that shifted willingly at whim.

She rests her head in her palms, staring out into forest, offering little reluctance in my indifference. "He's not bad, you know? Respectable for his age, as young as we all are."

"Ah-yes. Respectable." I counter her subtle hint towards the pairing. "Ought the son of the minister's right hand man be anything but?" A sly smirk develops around the corners of both our lips.

Sighing once more, Liana swoons, like many of the witches who have noticed his privileged acceptance in, far be it a nuisance of character -his unnaturally, handsome good looks. The splitting image of his father before the dread of his wife's passing. They say age and time are a mere reflection of one another, and that death being all too aware of time, ages those lost in grief forever. It took two years before my father ran into the man, who to many, seemed impartial to loss but favored in luck. Life can never favor all but the select few that it does, it cheats.

"Charming, yes." I solemnly agree through a clenched jaw, unwavering in my companion's torment of the discussion. "He is but a waste of words on my tongue-"

"Ah, but not on your eyes." Liana remarks.

Shuddering at the thought of the union, I retort. "His proposal is quite rash, don't you think it odd?"

"Maybe in the muggle world, they deem it that. But, as your better half and the half that wishes to see you happy all these years, I think it rash to reject that happiness." Shifting on the tree limb to face me better, she pauses. "I know you. Not everyone you meet will face an insufferable end. They do exist. I truly believe that, Mar. You fear the unknown. Always have and always will. My gosh, the day I first met you. Do you remember?"

"Oh, not this again." She had a knack for being sentimental.

Tucking her legs beneath and re-positioning her posture was the first sign of trouble. Something she always did before explaining anything deemed monumental. "You were standing on the platform, ticket in hand, scratching your head." How many times have I heard her tell complete strangers this? Seven, maybe eight times? One had to have memory of it erased to protect our world. "You had your trunk rested up against the stone wall of King's Cross and when you went to lean back to brace yourself, you fell." Of course, I had a bandage on my knee the first few weeks I wore a skirt. Infuriating as it was for the dress code to require panty hose, that or give up the right to wear a skirt above my scabbed knee. "The muggle had it coming to him if I do say so myself. I have no respect for thieves, wizard or not." Maybe the notable traits inherited from her father and his father's father. All were Aurors, I might add. Justice, any shape or form, was dignified depending on the corresponding actions of the accuser.

"Who steals a trunk full of girl's clothes?" I joke.

"A simple enchantment from my father rendered him incapable of speech. We'll never know the full reason why, will we?" She laughs momentarily. "I don't know. Just the way your face looked in that moment. You hadn't seen magic used like that before. You took a serious distaste towards him after that." Only because the man was unable to defend himself against us. In my eyes, it was wrong even though I knew it to be an act of protection.

"My umbrella fell onto the tracks. I remember your father yanking me backwards before I jumped down to grab it." A second thought passes the first. "He said I was hastily unaware of my surroundings."

"He told me to watch out for you." How could I forget? After a snap of his fingers, did the umbrella levitate back onto the platform and into his open hand. He gripped it tightly and gave me a stern look of discretion as passer-bys moved onward, unscathed by the events. "And speaking of being hastily unaware of your surroundings-"

"What's that spell to make you stop talking?" Mumbling under my breath, I reserve the right to pardon her genuine thoughts for a bleak moment. "-shut it."

"Stubborn as well as hastily unaware. Possibility of ignorance thrown in." The thud from her landing suffices the end of the conversation.

"Possibility of ignorance hath a forthcoming of unfortunate events in about three days." I remark on the reality of such other importance.

"Fifth years, here here!" Shouting with a lone fist in the air, Liana bellows the extravagant news.

"Another year closer to freedom!"

"Here, here!"

"Another year closer to a career!"

"Here, here!"

"Another year-" Pausing for a second to observe the untouched farmland, I saw the all too familiar black robes with the embroidered embossment only the Ministry deemed to bare. "-closer to reality."

At the end of my statement, Liana encloses a hand to her lips in shock. "What are they doing out in the middle of nowhere?"

"Lost, obviously." I remark sarcastically.

* * *

My eyes were burning something fierce. I had been trying to perfect a sleeping potion for my own personal use. About a month into second term, the noise of my resilient thoughts kept my dreams at bay. Should I have blamed him after all this time? He must have known what I would think after his honesty in such speech? No, it's not right to have given him any sort of empathy. For, what is done cannot be undone.

Professor Woods, our newly replaced Potions expert, hath decided to make me his star pupil. That, being my focus was on the literature of potion making and not his actual advice on making thus potion. He was no more than ten years older than my classmates; and yet, he was accomplished in every entirety of his life. He had visited ruins and recovered lost jems and bones, worked under the command of the Ministry before resigning to teach at Hogwarts. And that, all after publishing three books on various teachings of magical artifacts. He was, to some, magnificent, headstrong, decently eye-catching; and to me, a complete ass, sometimes.

Potions comes naturally to me. Although I would read the page of listed ingredients and scuff at the preparations, I had three years prior to perfect an art that so willingly suited my endeavors as a child. My father was proud to see a hobby most wizards and witches turn down for spells, un-tempted by the desire it's willing to produce. A drug, no less, than that of eager substances. Done correctly, one could be brilliant, forthright, undeniably fearsome. Done correctly, all these things could claim ownership over a soul. And done in a suitable manner of persuasion, condemn one's life unknowingly.

But magic is magic. Potions is just potions. Our level of influence having been confined to the castle walls, did not render our thoughts any less intrigued. " _Spells are but mere enchantments made to 'whoo' the common fables of Muggles. Real magic remains hidden beneath ourselves and the weight we carry in and of our souls. We are a small ripple in time, whose significance only matters to those who dwell in the past. We are condemned to a fate by what flows through our veins, stretching to our hearts and our minds. We owe more than spells to a generation apart from still waters._ "

Scottish ancestry, given his distinct accent. According to Quinn, our hair-brained Charms expert, who didn't dare leave her wand a foot out of reach from her hand and third in our group of misguided youth, deemed him idiotic and disgracefully, disturbingly... sexy. Her words, not mine. For me, my first and only love is that of potion making, not making a fool of myself. Its pretty hard to bottle that up but believe me, Quinn could.

And if it wasn't for her affection towards our Potions professor, it was the constant argument of debate about the subject matter as a whole with Mr. Kingston, who willingly abides with the daily disputes on behalf of hopeless restraints in order to back down, that kept me satisfied with a lesser conflict of interest. How she would tousle her jet-black hair in his face after frantically waving her arms in the air and flashing an irritated glare with pools of piercing blue eyes. Of course, in the beginning, Fredrick Kingston was a know-it-all, incompetent jerk with fiery red hair and a fantastic knack for dominating anothers thoughts as if they were insignificant. Mind you, he had a good head on his shoulders for being one of five brothers and sisters, all of whom accomplished bright futures without the use of chemistry sets. Something a few of his elder brothers teased him for while growing up under the same household. Nevertheless, my first day of class, I was situated next to this mysterious beast, of whom I didn't think much of until the first few words out of his mouth were spoken.

 _"Your friend need not gloat about levitating my books by the use of simple charms."_ He shot a gaze of assumption back at Quinn before acquiring my attention again. _"I am well versed when it comes to the art."_ Kingston winked to an aggravated witch at the end of class. _"Keep your feet well grounded, sweetheart. I take cynical hatred seriously. If she does not reciprocate good manners, I cannot be expected to give, nor acquire them towards her."_ A short laugh uttered from his breath as he explained this. _"Please caution Ms. Gracen in her actions and words."_ I had never been speechless at such intrepid behavior as I had been in front of him.

And should I have been for, his best friend since before the sorting was none other than the man I would despise years later. Kingston and I have a mutual friendship based on our interest in Potions. Chemistry just, sort of, bonded us through the years in a way which many of my friends joked about from time to time. Oh-well, I have a breakthrough with a stunning healant that will repress the symptoms within a few short intakes of breath. As the height of circulation increases within the bloodstream, the mixture of ingredients could remain within the system up to four to six hours, giving the witch, or wizard, an invisible armor to subdue his, or her, opponents. Together, Fred and I worked on perfecting the dose for months before doing a trial run without the consent of our professor.

 _"You should be more careful."_ Quinn would urge me to reconsider my intentions. _"If the professor knew-"_

 _"He won't."_ I remembered the glare I shot at her from across the common room. _"We're perfecting the use of invisible armor. Do you know how many lives that could save one day? How many lives it could have already saved?"_ I was defensive. I had a right to be.

Liana and Quinn exchanged a glance with one another. _"It is a good thing, Mari."_ Liana remarked cautiously. _"-but in the wrong hands."_

 _"Its not in the wrong hands."_ I rejected their idea of mis-concepted acts of heroism. _"Look, I know what I believe and I know what I stand for. For once, in my life, I feel like I'm apart of something bigger, something better."_ Their withered expressions unraveled before me. Somehow, some way, nothing good would enlighten the views they interpreted from previous histories of overcoming obstacles through means of which the wizarding community considered to be damned, if not a progress through the idle hands of Muggle advances keen on defining 'magic' by simple viles of substance. Any high authority would see the foresight for the blend that it was -a threat. What would they know of better? To expect the storm before a gust of wind. But, hath the gust a rarity of warning granted them a grace of mercy, would the Ministry expect anything different of the sort?

 _"Even in noble circumstances, the best witches and wizards are never above the influence of authority. They are blinded by what warrants their attention to achieve glory. Kindred, some are, but not aware of cost from nobility and self-righteousness."_ At the end of Liana's ranting, I drew a most magnificent sigh.

 _"An achievement of absolute glory requires an act of nobility-"_

 _"-not self-righteousness."_ We finished altogether.

 _"Got it."_ I smacked my palms to complete the debate. _"Anything else to share?"_

* * *

"Bloody Hell," I mumble under my breath as we approached the house to find the Minister's army of intruders drawing themselves closer to their destination. "Stupify me, please." Begging Liana of my request causes her to snicker in response. Maybe I knew all too well the endangerment of refusal. Nothing but a single drop of courage could salvage the mask of expressionless drones that lay ahead of us. I dote on the fact that the time spent in solidifying an art of a specific substance acquired no absolute purpose in a moment such as this.

Again, I begin to plead with my friend. "What good could come from expulsion at the expense of your unfortunate, misfortune?" Batting her eyelashes at the stern wizard I had recognized faintly through the facial features of his son on occasion, my confidence fades.

"I promise I won't ask anything else of you." If I survive this, I would ask a million things more. That, she need not to know temporarily. "Liana-"

"Ms. Camari," Every part of me freezes without intent as the robed wizard crept up from behind. Liana softens her laugh for a stern look of seriousness. "Ms. Hartley," nodding to my companion in her com-pulsed composure of shock, made me sympathize with the awareness of informal first greetings. How does he know? How have they ever known anything without the use of illegal practices? Confidentiality being none of their ascertained traits. "So nice of you to accompany your friend to her meeting with the Ministry." Mr. Everhart's voice broke in sparse at the intentional backlash from my denotation.

"Meeting?" Quizzically, I eye Liana for accommodation of such belligerent scheduling. "I've gotten no formal, written notice of any-" Screeching ensues amongst the conversation as a flustered, snowy owl soars over our heads. Ducking to avoid the diversion, a plain, creme-colored envelop with the embossed Ministry seal, lands directly into his hands.

"Mail these days." He taps the seal twice, once to levitate and twice to break.

"Ms. Marisole Lynn Camari, daughter of Douglas and Analease Camari, is hereby sentenced to a series of questioning by the Ministry of Magic due to the tragic death of one Professor Rosaline DeBois, previous Potions expert at Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizarding. The events, of which thus victim has passed, are still unknown, except for which student was last in her prescience before the disappearance. Questioning will presume for as long as the case remains unsolved by any means necessary."

Silence overtakes the two of us. Liana knew my love for Potions and as far as the terrible passing of the professor, who taught the art, she was unacknowledged about the facts which connected me to the unfortunate incident midway through the semester. Mrs. DeBois was a tart-feathered haired women, distinct for her age, and sarcastically so. Most professors are serious while very few extract a humor to a precise subject. Rose did both and all while concocting a stew of mystery, breathtaking enough to swoon the entire class. Bluntly, were we ignorant and unaware of which potion was being made to calm and manipulate our thoughts into becoming her philosophies and secrets about life, love and friendship. It took hours for the effects to wear off. Those of us who acted apart from its effects, found an agitating separation from identity. Not that floating objects remained inexcusable or ordinary acceptable but given the situation, to which we understood movement and misplaced gravity, it was too late to convince us different. She could be dark depending on her mood and distaste of regulatory proceedings of studies. Current events bored her persuasions of fancy. None to which she found admirably stimulating. One day though, before her disappearance, she composed herself entirely different in front of us. Different enough for me to take notice.

"Short notice, I must say." Having a small intake of breath and examining a spot on one of my cuticles, I attempt to evade such a request. "Another engagement proceeds thus requirement, sir."

Stepping back after retrieving the falling piece of parchment from my hands, he remarks drastically. "Unless thus engagement requires the binding of my son and future daughter-in-law, then by all means, excuse your request on the Ministry's behalf." Out of my peripheral, Liana places a hand to her mouth in order to stifle her outburst of laughter. Ever heard about a rock and a hard place? I was standing right in front of the rock, immovable and unfailing when it came down to business. This is what his son inherited -a stability in knowing how to get exactly what he wanted. "Well, which notion guides importance to you at the moment?"

My stance shifts in response to his demeanor. Sometimes inherent, simmering rage could have the same effects as a drop of courage. "As a matter of fact, I have a form of engagement to acquire with Haiden this evening. He's rather unyielding when it comes to the acceptance of some things. I must reassure him on the notion or I dear say, he will blatantly disagree with my alibi of lateness. But, you know him well. I'm sure he'll understand, given the circumstances."

As his lip curls, he contemplates the hindrance in the delay. "I do know his affections are disturbingly distraught with you." Pausing, I watch him struggle to recite the next phrase. "We will reschedule the meeting to a more convenient time that suits the two of you." In a swift movement, the rest of his team apparates while he lingers behind. After the last disappearance, his gaze zeros in on my intolerance. "I do not approve of such engagements when it comes to the Everhart bloodline." Leaning closer so his point was private from my companion, his speech continues. "But it is most fortunate for your family's namesake that my son has taking a liking to you. I, however, do no agree with the tolerance of his affections. He's quite stubborn with what he wants. A trait inherited from his mother. Let me give caution in saying that a pairing of such individuals cannot strive together in a future that warrants such importance." I watch him observe the expression my eyes refracted -a scrutinizing gleam of reluctance to order. "Haiden is my son. He has an attraction to all things beautiful but, he scratches the surface of nostalgic grace when it comes to those who he takes an interest in as allies."

"Uh-hem," Liana clears her throat as we depart.

"He is but a mere reflection of me. Remember that, Ms. Camari." Turning to leave, I regain my sense of confidence.

"Reflections change, Mr. Everhart." I retort.

"Suppose they do. Over time." Smirking a nod to us both, he left. The tension in my jaw lessens upon the break.

"Amazing piece of work for a father." Liana comments. Trying to analyze the thoughts floating across my stern expression. How judgmental he could be and only eight years after his wife's passing. Surely, he hadn't forgot her reflection. Had he?

"Unbelievably so." I agree with her.

* * *

"So, you're saying you're never going to confront his son?" Twiddling with the piece of parchment that lay directly in front of me, I begin the confirmation with a simple nod. A lone broomstick situated in the corner of her bed, took flight into her open hand. "You're saying, that by some non-magical or illegal wrong-doing, you'll completely avoid him this year?" After pacing back and forth several times, I attempt to persuade her of the plan. "Do you know how stupid that sounds?"

"And possibly idiotic, Mar." Quinn follows suit once Joslyn finishes her ranting. "You can't evade the boy forever. Hell, you can't escape his father either."

"I can try-"

"It's a little difficult considering he's in the same house as the rest of us." Liana pipes up with the defaulted notion of absolute failure. "Or, have you forgotten the common room incident of last year?" Joslyn begins to crack a smile with a jittery laugh. Having her tips within her hair change from purple to red at the recollection.

"Cannot believe how much butterbeer Miles and Brysen managed to sneak past the gates of Hogsmeade." Shaking her head, the length of her hair shortens. "What do you think of this look for pre-game season? Too much? Too bold?"

"Badass, Ms. Emberson." Quinn answers.

"That was one night things got out of hand." I proclaim.

"One? Is that all you can remember?" Liana prods while raising an eyebrow to suggest deceit within the group.

"Weren't you snogging with Mr. Hensley after a few drinks?" I reprimand the dignity of my delusional memories. We were all under an influence greater than ourselves. Joslyn laughs at Liana's suffering.

"Mr. Davon had an interesting game of Wizard's Chess as well that night." Liana fires back mercilessly.

"What?" Quinn covers her mouth in shock before Joslyn smacks her arm with the broomstick.

"He's not like the other wizards. He knows how to have fun and let loose." She smiles at the photograph her mind replicated from her previous thoughts.

"Brysen Davon?" Quinn questions. "Team Captain, Brysen Davon?" Breaking from her thoughts, I notice Joslyn's nails turn slightly orange. "The same Brysen Davon that gets up every morning at five a.m. doing crunches and lunges to prepare for hours in advance to training? The same Brysen Davon, of which I've seen on numerous occasions never leave a classroom without a notebook full of plays he brags to Miles about being the ultimate game-play on the Quidditch field? The same Brysen Davon that has never been late for class, tardy for a pre-game meeting, or important dining hall study for advanced courses? This Brysen let loose his guard and responsible methods of study for a game of drunken chess?" Silence encapsulates the two for a bit. It becomes extremely difficult not to break their stares.

"Yes," Joslyn boasts proudly. "Although, I ended the night with a 'checkmate'." Quinn bites her lip in a disapproved manner of repercussion. "He's quite intelligent for a half-blood, I must say."

"Joslyn," Hartley protests the insecurity with the division.

One thing her father stood for was equal magic, equal rights. Half-bloods could learn and perform magic like the rest of us. Why would a division be needed? Of course, according to Mr. Everhart, I had no place in the wizarding community under the liability of his family's namesake. Such a crude, old man with no heart in matters unless they pertained to justice. It's all just black and white for them. They have 'The Daily Prophet' to do their bidding in solid ink. Why fight with the use of wands or morbid, chained creatures. They know what they stand for and what others think they should stand for. When have they been proud enough to take a stand against one of our own? How their hearts are just as empty and bare as those thieves in the Muggle world. But, we will not acquit one of our own without reason. That is, of course, unless the sentence concerns someone other than a pure-blood.

 _"I don't understand."_ Haiden tossed his books across the tower's stone floor. _"Mari, look at me please."_ I knew his eyes had fallen alongside my back as I clenched and un-clenched my fist.

 _"I can't do this."_ My whisper played throughout echoes in the vacant room.

 _"What are you saying?"_ Turning to face him, I found his eyes just the same as the day we met. _"That you won't come back next year? That I won't get the chance to ever share my memories with you?"_ He goes to grab my hands as I tug away. But, I should have known to be quicker, faster than a Quidditch Chaser. _"No,"_ A sob caught in his throat. My anger broke into a thousand pieces at the tone. _"No, Mari. I can't let you leave-"_

 _"I've made a mistake, Haiden."_ Wiping a teardrop from the corner of my eye, he reached for my hand and hindered my speech for a moment. _"I knew-"_ My sentence slithered down my throat. He was looking at me with an expression that would have made bliss blush. _"You know what will happen once the rumors are confirmed. They'll come for me. I don't want you here when they do. I don't want you apart of this."_

 _"I am apart of this, all of it -including you."_ Kneeling downwards on one knee, I began to lose my composure for a firm laugh.

 _"What do you know of me, of what you see?"_

Haiden kissed my hand while sharing a gaze indescribable to that of skies glimmering in still waters that represented the many shades of blue I adored. _"I am hopelessly blind when it comes to affection. But my mother always said 'we are but solemn shadows, of which light craves to seize, if only the darkness were to waver its debts of attraction'. Sometimes what we cannot see, or bare witness to, is exactly what attracts us in the first place."_ Drawing closer, a breath of air tickled my face as I closed my eyes. _"There is a debt I owe to my light. And as far as it reaches to those around me, you are the place it longs to shine forever."_

 _"Do you always speak with such bravado, Mr. Everhart?"_ I jokingly teased him. He placed a lone kiss on my forehead.

 _"It's likely I inherited such from my ancestors. Yes."_

 _"Oh, that's the excuse."_ I laughed.

 _"Mari,"_ he stopped for an intake of breath, almost unsure of his next sentence. _"Marry me."_ It was a faint whisper in my ear, but I caught each word.

 _"Why?"_ I whispered back.

 _"Because you reflect the best of me, Ms. Camari."_ Holding me tighter as though he thought I would fall, I held my breath. I can't. I can't marry you. _"There's no place I'd rather be than with you. This world or the next."_

"Mar, are you in the same reality as us?" Far in the distance, the sudden vocals of Liana's words reverberate back to me. I snap back slowly to the three of them staring back at me.

"Anybody got some floo powder? I think she's catatonic." Joslyn squints to observe me closer before I blink regretfully during the puff of dust.

"Hell, Joslyn." I choke out.

"Wrong about being catatonic, Jos." Quinn snickers.

"Can we be normal for a second?" I beg of the two.

Liana clears her throat before speaking. "Oh, Mari. We are far past that of our ancestors. I'd be flabbergasted about our impending descendants who inherit our traits."

"Fair enough," I state reluctantly, staring at the mostly blank piece of parchment. The few words written in permanent, black ink: 'Dear, Mr. Everhart', were void of instantaneous and creative inspiration. The tip of my quill hovers steadily as a loud crackling booms from the downstairs fireplace at the Emberson residence.

* * *

 _ **Disclaimer:**_ _I do not claim any ownership of J.K. Rowling's: Harry Potter. However, this fanfic prequel based upon her books, is my original work._

* * *

 _ **A/N:** For all those devoted readers of the series, I promise this prequel will be epic. Of course, my stubborn streak of inventing creative characters mixed with the actual ones, is prominent. As the story carries on, a few will reveal themselves while others simmer beneath their quirky habits. _


	2. Of Erised 02 Out of the Woods

_**A/N:**_ _The full servitude of my literary endeavors favor me to acts of completion. I am determined to keep posting chapters more frequently than before. And for those who have instilled their faith in my writing style, well, you know how badly I ramble... even in typed words. My apologies. I will, however, continue to add a dash of mystery to each and every chapter, along with the characters, which give it strength with each word written._

* * *

 _ **Out of the Woods**  
_

* * *

Everyone jumps except for me. My focus was strong, yielding to the almost empty parchment. Quinn was the first to recognize the accent of the professor's vocals. Had it not been for Liana, holding her at bay, she would would have flown down the stairwell a wink too soon.

"Now, now Nolan." Mr. Emberson pats his former colleague on the back for good measure. "I have retired from teaching and for good reason." Their voices bleed through the walls enough for us to seize our positions.

Quinn takes the lead by opening the door, just a crack. Joslyn pops her head a top of Quinn and so forth as Liana and me join suit. The four of us creating a totem pole of misfit guidance.

"Merlin, he looks good in a vest. Don't you think he looks good in a vest?" Gracen clambers an arrogant fascination of style through infatuated pursuits of longing. I roll my eyes backwards while massaging the throbbing temples wanting to implode.

"That burgundy tie really makes his eyes pop." Emberson chips in.

"Shhh," Hartly quiets the chatter.

"Thank you," I state to no one in particular.

From in between the balusters, we see Professor Woods ignite the flames in the newly placed wood in the fireplace before continuing. "The Minister has many faults. One of them being poor attitude when it comes to the educational awareness of young witches and wizards. He fears the next generation. He should. They are far beyond an intelligence I acquired in my youth." Mr. Emberson offers him some tobacco for the pipe laying on the nearby table. He graciously accepts the gift, puffing out a cluster of smoke that resembles a dragon, beating its wings in mid-flight.

After a few more intakes, Joslyn's father speaks. "You talk as though you've surpassed my age. And with great difficulty, I might add." Professor Woods chuckles at the notion. "It is not the Minister that troubles my burdens." He stops to gaze at the portrait of Josyln, smiling precariously, on the mantlepiece. "I have high hopes about an unknown future for my daughter. How she grows in morality is of great importance to me."

"Mitchum Thompson is an arrogant prick, incomprehensible in pride. Why the Minister appointed him Headmaster of Hogwarts, I will never know."

"He has prejudices towards differences in character. My daughter comes from a long line of Changlings. Every descendant given birth to, loses their mother. It's a curse they bare because it is so rare for their existence-"

"They're almost extinct, by claims in wizarding history." His friend solemnly adds. Josyln's tips and roots start to claim a bluish hue in color.

"It's an unfair miracle -to lose the love of your life and have the hope of love lying in your arms at the same time."

"I can't imagine a greater pain, Richard." He consoles. Both shake their heads in an unspoken grievance. "I sense Thompson is not the only source of refusal."

"I can't walk into a classroom again. Not while my memories are still intact. Surely, you understand?"

"Of course," Our professor goes to pick up his briefcase with little pause. Sliding a piece of paper across the table. I notice Mr. Emberson's pupils grow larger as his finger played about his chin. It was clear he rejected the proclamation with every fiber in his being. What he was cursed with was an unbearable thought. Something, not even his own daughter was aware of until that moment. She knew her mother died giving birth to her. What she didn't know was that it had been a fate of certain lineage.

"My boy, you are stubborn." He proclaims

Professor Woods smiles at an interval and states. "I learn from the best." Turning to the fireplace, he unravels a small bag of powder to hold. He pauses, not wanting to take leave yet. "Some odd years ago, I had a professor who knew magic wasn't the greatest weapon a witch or wizard could behold. That our race was most fortunate when it came to those without magic. He was a great mentor and father figure to me when I had no one else to look up to. It would be a shame to watch him wither beneath a wizard with no former consideration of the word compassion. I despise refuge when it means surrender. I knew the man beneath the wizard. He does not deserve to refrain from happiness, no matter the expense of hatred and loathing of past regrets. He deserves more than this." Joslyn's father exchanges a nod while focusing his gaze elsewhere. "You deserve more than this." With a flashing swish, he was gone. The piece of paper mocking him across the tabletop.

Joslyn pulls away from the group first, causing Liana and I to crumble onto Quinn. "Hey," she angerly swats at Liana and me. Liana pushes off, swatting Quinn in full disclosure. As Quinn rises to her feet, I glance back at the table to realize the letter was gone. So much for the effort, Nolan.

"Jos?" I hear Liana pleading for her to speak.

"It's my fault she's dead, you know?" Her teary eyes refused to pour out its contents. "Mine!" She screeches. The color within her hair switches from blue to red faster than any of us had witnessed. Her nails and eyes following suit.

"It's not-" Quinn steps forward to touch her arm.

"No," she spins around, looking out the window. "I always had this knot in my chest every birthday. Every time my father wished me well. He could never look me in the eye, and I never knew why."

"He's in pain-" I try to interject.

"-because of me. Because of how I remind him of my mother. He should hate me. I already have this guilt."

"Don't you think he fears the same fate for you?" Joslyn turns around slightly. Liana and Quinn give me a cautious look of hindrance. "Make no mistake about that man down there. He loves you, with every fiber of his being. The last thing he does is resent you." A teardrop falls down the side of her cheek as she wipes it away. "You're like the phoenix, Jos. You rise from the burning embers that claim your heritage, just like your mother. He is more than grateful for your life because it is hers as well." It was hard for me to not dwell in my own misery of having lost my mother before Haiden, but I could not bare to let my friend suffer the same grievance.

Jos wraps her arms around me, squeezing as tight as she possibly could. "I feel like I'm missing pieces of myself." She confides.

"They're gone, Jos. Not forever, though."

"Okay, enough." Quinn takes a levitated stance in the room. "I say we have five days till we board a train to school."

"Isn't it four days?" Joslyn asks un-breakingly.

"In four days, we-"

"Nope, it's three days." Liana confirms as I nod in agreement.

"Really? Three days-" A smile cracks Joslyn's stiff features. "Fine. We have three days to prepare-"

"For what?" We all question together.

"Let me finish. This is getting annoying as talking to Kingston, alright?" We all un-spokingly willed ourselves to remain silent. "As I was saying before you all-" Her voice becomes more regal with importance. "We have three days to prepare for the most epic year of our lives. And I'm not talking about Potions, Quidditch or Dark Arts." Eying the three of us, we shoot a defensive glare back. "-or Charms. Happy?"

"So where does epic begin?" Jos prods.

"Where it always does. Diagon Alley."

* * *

The air was brisk and fresh among the London streets that morning. Quinn kept a steady chatter of conversation with Joslyn while Liana and me trudged behind at our own pace. Our discussion consisting of newly appointed Prefects within the following year. That, and the form of my evasive tactics from the Everhart bloodline entirely. Some confrontations were better suited around stone walls, whose armor of magic aided helpfully when it came to protection. Two more days to go; I told myself. Only two. After that, I just become invisible again.

"Hey Quinn, did you sign up for House Prefect?" I ask curiously. Many overachievers were in the running.

Without skipping a beat, she replies. "You bet Kingston's liquid luck I did." A small smirk stamps her signature pride in one-upping her cohort. Since Gracen's first day in Charms class, the contemplation of her success over him had grown increasingly rabid with competition.

"If only he had liquid luck, I wouldn't be in stealth mode." Mumbling graciously under my breath, Liana catches the last few words of somber sarcasm. She touches my shoulder briefly while the other two enter the Leaky Cauldron.

The place was oddly vacant of visitors for the time of day. Unnatural, considering the amount of business it had over the past Summer months. From the few residents inhabiting the surroundings, Ava Leondre, barkeeps to both the Leaky Cauldron and Three Broomsticks, yawns woefully around the corner. Her eyelids wan slightly until our presciense causes a shocked and startled response.

"Oh my, you lot grow up faster every time we meet." Of course, it is our tradition before every school year. Afterall, most of us had bumped into one another the following years because of the Leaky Cauldron. It's a watering hole for heavy thoughts and, to many, gossip. "Joslyn, your hair looks different. Have you cut it?"

"Something like that." She winks from the corner of her eye at us before engaging the conversation once more. "Business been slow lately, Mrs. Leondre?" Four cups of spiced pumpkin juice levitate onto the bar top as subsequent sugar sticks provide a tasteful decor to the drink.

"Ugh, I have not heard that name since my late husband's passing, my dear. No, no. I prefer Ava-Rose." Ringing her hands of the moist towel, she flings it onto the sink. "It has been quiet this past week alone, darling. I have no answer as to why." A sadness washes over her until she looks to us. "But, I am glad to see your faces again. It brings me joy instead of sorrow."

"Ava," Quinn taps Ava-Rose's hand for comfort. "What is it?"

"It is none of your worries, I assure you." Mrs. Leondre deflects.

"Nonsense, you're like family to us." Liana proposes, and a cheery smile captivates the barkeeper.

"A mother to be exact, Ava." I add. Her eyes wander to the pub's window for a bleak moment. The expression on her faces more stern and dismayed than in past instances. Something was troubling her, and it was unlike her character to keep it hidden. In the years we had known her, she was as much of an open book as you could get.

"Is something bothering you?" Jos breaks the women's trance. Biting my lip, I digest the appearance of the embroidered crest on the black robe of the passerby.

"More like someone is bothering you." I state as the others eye me curiously.

"Everything is fine, my dears." Mrs. Leondre diffuses. "Now, what is this I hear about a proposal?" Choking back my drink, I can hear snickers erupt from my fellow friends. Not again, my eyes roll up into my skull upon the notion. "Now, out with it. You know how I hate to be out of the loop." Quinn exchanges a look with Liana and Joslyn before watching me slump down in my chair.

"You know rumors lie." Jos covers the truth.

"They also have a strong opinion from what I hear." His voice sneaks up from behind Quinn, who smacks him relentlessly.

"Hell, Kingston!" She breathes out, calming our nerves. "Do you always surprise people like that?"

Fred's smile suits the chuckle from his lips before offering a belated wink towards me. "Only untamed witches like yourselves." Smacking a hand across the bar, he relishes in Quinn's tucked lip. It was as though she had a few choice words to express but was so infuriated, she could not voice them. Knowing this, Fred acted unsuitably charming to the witch who knew him least of all. "Dear Ava-Rose, what admirable concoction have you graced us with this fine afternoon?" I roll my eyes at his desired wordplay. Glancing at Quinn, I could sense her hostility growing ever so slightly at his prescience. That, above all, made me smile. This was always the beginning of their wonderful disputes, and only minutes in the making.

Mrs. Leondre blushes, simply waving him off. "Just an old recipe my grandmother sweared by." Nodding in wake of its actual origin, she mumbles the following sentence. "Matter of fact, I believe she did have quite a bitter tongue while making the brews." She claps her hands enthusiastically, startling us all. "I have just the brew you'll absolutely love. Not as sweet as spiced pumpkin, but it has a 'kick' to it." A wink allows Fred to swallow his sugar-coated insides.

"This oughta be good." Quinn voices into her cup as my fellow Potions master took a seat next to her.

"C'mon Quinby." Batting his lengthy lashes and pouting remorsefully, he teases her. "One day, all that pent up aggression will be expansive, if not thrust upon all my future accomplishments. I'll be sure to throw mention of your name as reference for an alternate source of motivation." Even Joslyn's mouthed words read 'jerk' around Fred's fiery mess of hair.

But Gracen, herself, as many tend to forget, is the true master when it comes to Charms. Being anything other than respectful to her was a crime in and of itself. Her concentration pursues a much different orientation when threatened by an absolute idiot. She chooses her words carefully, knowingly, while tilting her head towards him and waving Joslyn off. "It is devastatingly sad when you have to be motivated to achieve glorious attributes." The screeching skid from Joslyn's stool raises a red flag. "Not to worry, love. There's always something to strive for in terms of perfection. An image, perhaps. But, you need not recognition when subsequent to your successor. I will, gladly refute your name on behalf of your narcissistic bigotries of success."

I don't know if I imagined steam pouring out of Kingston's ear or fire shooting out of Gracen's mouth. Either way, both would have been perfect depictions at that moment. In silence, the rest of us sip the spiced pumpkin juice until Ava returns.

"I think you'll love the flavor of this one." Pausing, she notices the unbreakable stares between my two friends. "Did I miss something?" Tilting her head to one side, the barkeeper attempts a winning smile at the brew settled in the glass before her. "Here you go, deary. Straight from the cauldron, as they say." Liana and I exchange a glance with one another while Joslyn messes with the tips in her nails. Once settling on a mood, she nods agreeing to nudge Fred with her foot. After the jolt, their gazes broke. Heart-wrenching as it was to witness the two natures of arrogance fight.

"Thank you," Kingston musters while averting his attention to the bubbling froth coating the top portion of the drink.

"Mrs. Leondre," Liana stumbles through her words. "Ava-Rose, sorry-" A single sip down the bar allows a small gasp of wretched gagging from Kingston. I attempt to hold my drink instead of spritzing its contents out in a spurt of laughs. "Who is that? In the picture?" Curiously, I follow her pointed finger in the direction of the alleged, framed photograph. "She looks so familiar."

Mrs. Leondre pauses, frozen mid-wash with a bar glass and wash cloth, her expression bleak in a manner of grief. It was then that I recognized the familiar features alongside the once, youthful, barkeeper and her faithful companion. Her smile was bright, radiant in a way that made normal instances long for its favored happiness. One, I began to know faintly through the years, drowned in my own dread of circumstance. But, things must pass; must move on in order for us to dwell on better fears that cloaked the world in tempered ignorance.

"A dear friend," she replies.

* * *

"You are not seriously tagging along?" Quinn flips her hair to one side, gives us an annoyed look of torture, and shoves forward past her non-Muggle, enemy.

Kingston bellows a definitive sigh of epic endangerment along with his notion of being the fifth rusty wheel in our group. "There's no comfort without magic to satisfy my needs. I have an attraction to chaos and a well-versed additive to support my needs towards it." A chuckle escapes from Liana's mouth while we walked onward into the square.

"If only, if only..." Shaking her head in mere disappointment while tapping her wand to her palm, Gracen expresses a sinister grin. "-time didn't move so slowly before the start of term." A sparkling flame whizzes through the throng of witches and wizards, who looked back in amusement.

"No way." Fred nudges my side, invading Quinn's serene space for a second. "Wishing stones!" For whatever reason when Kingston grew exceptionally excited about something, he had a habit of high-fiving. I had no problem with this. Our uniquely disturbed Charms expert, unfortunately, did.

" _I am all that cherishes without keeping score._

 _With a habit towards attraction,_

 _then alike, all the more._

 _I thrive in light but alone in dark,_

 _of which a soul captures my essence from the start._

 _Raw and relinquished from passer notions,_

 _I offer hope amongst those with kindred devotions._ "

"Hmm, poetic for a rock." Quinn mocks, tossing it back into the cauldron.

"It's a stone, Ms. Cynical." Kingston catches the piece mid air before examining it closer.

"It's an in-adamant object with no purpose in sustaining magical energy. Believe me, they are the least preferred thing a witch or wizard can, nor should enchant. It's a scam simple Muggles would place faith in." She huffs while crossing her arms. Dignified or not, I shell over some of my coins, along with Kingston, to purchase the odd stone that emblazoned a dark red hue.

"Oh, they've got new riding gloves in with Quidditch Supplies this year." Passing by the shop, I notice the drool encasing my friend's face. Liana eyes me knowingly as the tug of separation occurs in the madness of the rush.

"I'll go with you." Lee offers, nodding to the rest of us. "If I'm not back in an hour, you know the drill." A small flicker of her fingers was all that was left before they disappeared.

Kingston nudges my shoulder at the Potions shop up ahead. Of course, our excitement in entering thus establishment was far less shared with an un-enthused Quinn. "Oh Merlin, not again." Rolling her eyes in wake of the split read unbelievably scorned by abandonment. "I've gotta stop by Olivanders. See what type of detailing he can do after another year's worth of enchantments."

"Yeah, it's extremely important to mend your wand of splinches." Slapping Kingston in the side was just a bonus in befriending the absurd comment meant to infuriate her. Still, my expression was ever so slightly rigid after the passing of a specific group of students. My gaze broke some time after my concentrated look and after Quinn's sarcastic remark.

"Fine. You two have fun with your Chemistry sets while I accomplish something productive aside from over-rated vials of liquid." As she finishes, her entire figure smacks into a former house member.

"Davon!" Fred leaps from my side to slap an embrace from his fellow Quidditch player. Poor Quinn ends up sandwiched between the two as she bottles her unrequited rage from less noted anger management issues.

"Kingston!" Brysen's hug lingers past her head as I tried not to break a smile. It didn't take long for her to explode, especially when being held against her will -something she never stood for.

"Man, you beefed up over the Summer. You didn't take me seriously about that muscle max formula I etched in that notebook using crushed mandrake roots?" A chuckle escapes his breath as I lose one of my own.

"Holy, King Arthur's ghost." He exclaims without missing a beat. Apparently, we've all been apart for far too long already.

"You're crushing Quinn." I state for the record. They pull apart, laughing as she smacks the two.

"I'm seriously considering an entrapment spell that binds my enemies at will for my signature cast." Fred was intelligent enough to actually take a step back at the threat. Brysen, not so much.

"You're already on the chapter of bondage?" He motions enthused. "I studied that at the tail end of term last year. Interesting stuff. Hardcore restraint methods if you ask me. But, I've just got a mild liking of the subject between classes. Dark Arts doesn't really tickle my fancy as much as Quidditch."

Speechless my friend was in the moment, which was odd enough, she stuns herself with an inflated ego. Her competition was herself; a messed-up, psycho-perfectionist, but mostly herself. And there I was, unknowingly, encouraging the interaction while the two stood face to face.

"I see she's met her match. About time." Kingston whispers over his shoulder to me. For a brief second, I smirk, making up my own mind as to whether a laugh would be a suitable form of acceptance. Joslyn lived and breathed Quidditch since she had been old enough to hold a broom. A punishment set by regards of her father, who would one day think it coincidence for his un-behaved daughter with a brash attitude. Quinn loved books, the comfort of reading clean, crisp pages with printed letters. Safe to say that dirt and grime and sweat would never appeal to her personally. But all the same, an extraordinary piece of talent opposed her in a setting, in a world of smarts, she claimed ruler ship over. Magic be damned if this influence secluded her lesser intelligence. That bond more toxic than a brew Fred and I could concoct. It was all sudden.

"See you've found your mate there, Kingston." Brysen chuckles in wake of the tension. Intentionally, I blush and offer a gaze anywhere but where he intended.

Fred was quick to diminish the moment. "But of course, I never leave the graces of my sweetheart to chance. You know that." Draping an arm around Quinn's shoulder about gave her an immediate stunned expression from his display of warmth.

Brysen scratches his head confused yet entirely amused as my friend shoves her disturbance away. "You seriously need a re-cap on that Divination course again if you think the future involves the two of us. That is one prediction that even a prophecy gem would not contain and would thus shatter its contents even if the possibility existed in another universe."

"This is another universe." Kingston retorts confidently.

Gracen tousles her hair before changing the subject. "Uh, I don't have time for this debate. I forgot they're having a book signing at Flourish and Blotts."

"Book signing?" That's why I rushed to put on two completely different socks.

"Yes,"

"No way, who's signing?" My red-haired friend inquires.

"Professor Woods, of course." She states matter of fact. "One of the youngest author's to have ever written a fictional novel about the Dark Ages. It's suppose to be one of the most outstanding pieces of literature to date. Can you believe it?"

"No," Brysen mumbles underneath his breath while Fred knocks his elbow into his friend's side. Quinn catches the sour enthusiasm from the two and waves them off.

Grabbing a hold of my arm, Quinn captures my leftover freedom. "I don't know what your plans were earlier but I need moral support from someone sane." Turning closer to whisper in my ear, I become somewhat offended by her next assumption. "You're the only one sane enough to have a decent conversation with him. You know, without sputtering loose sentence fragments all over the place like his other admirers. Please? I know how formerly acquainted you are with him. It'll make my attempts seem less desperate."

Fred eyes me across the way as I overlooked Quinn's determined stare. I did have plans before Brysen showed up. Still, Kingston's stern expression amused a part of me. Now, I finally understood Quinn's addiction to torture. She had a way of convincing you to do the opposite and not just for her own sake.

"Fine," I utter, despite the glare I reciprocated from Kingston. Gracen tugs urgently on my limb as she hastily shoves through the two to get to the shop on time. I follow, flailing behind her as I catch a glimpse of a deflated smirk from the two. Past priorities hath taught me to be somewhat inclined to pure lunacy, and I was entranced by all things insanely derivative. At least, I wished.

* * *

A familiar scent encases my memories the moment we walk in. The smell of parchment, few and far between, wrapped in ages of curious souls seeking truth either through experience or pure instinct. Either way, its familiar welcomes me like an old student waiting to inhabit its inked pages. How my mind spins in previous ventures of whim. To be like the characters in those sacred books Muggles fantasize about. Not those driven by power but those who seek to understand its lengths. The ones with simple lives and simple goals. They are my heroes all the more.

"Look at this crowd." Catching me off guard, Quinn waves frustrated at the sea of wizards and witches crammed into the confined space. This was why the streets were so quiet upon arrival. "We've got to get closer. Any ideas?" Her panicked approval for guidance amused me entirely. Were it against her character to be utterly demanding and persuasive? Perhaps, not. But, notions are too eager to judge accurately; while as, emotions are faster within their realm of sincerity. She had a sense of sincere motivation, not the lust like like those shown around us continuing to shove and banter facts untrue about our professor. Quinn was driven.

"Follow me," I instruct.

"Where? There's no where to go." She protests.

Pointing upwards at the staircase that revolved around the entire room, I nod in complete confidence. "Except up. C'mon." It took a couple of deep breaths before she placed her first step that ascended the staircase. Where the reluctance came from, I still have no clue. Especially when Joslyn would have leaped through the crowd at any cost to gain a signature. Something dwelled inside my friend. A fear I, alone, couldn't place and didn't want the responsibility in doing so. The further we climbed, it seemed as though the air got thinner, more dense. When we reach the centerfold of the staircase itself, a loud voice boomed about the room.

A book plops on top of the intricately-carved, wooden desk. "I would like your undivided attention, please. As we welcome a dearest of legendary achievements, both in and out of this world-" Mr. Cambridge, owner of the bookshop, winks back at our motivator. "-Professor and Author, Nolan Woods!" Clapping follows his introduction. "And of course, his critically acclaimed novella de manifique: Simple Souls, Darkened Rage -The Dark Age. A work of brilliance is it not, Mr. Woods?" A giggle erupts from a third year dressed in the Hufflepuff colors. Her friend silences the laughter by stomping on her foot. Odd cycle of friendship is and what we do for embarrassment? Oh, the horror.

"Is that what they call influential writing these days? I'm not much a fan of elated intelligence. Mind you, my research pertaining to the subject matter was certainly grueling, above other things. Take to heart that I am as much an observer of life as much as I am an advocate of the later. I do not accept judgement on my writing as an act of brilliance, but of certain reality. What we know in and of the darkest of times. The sacrifices, the secrets, the torture, held within those moments the world is blind upon observation." Quiet instills the crowd, looking in to the owner for direction.

"I-I find it refreshing to have such an independent mind conquering the depths of darkness amongst its people. I'm enthralled with the masterpiece and what it represents. Everyone in this room can attest to those high standards." Without missing a beat, they cheer upon command. The drones of them, wondering what to think of his mind?

I had a small chuckle escape my lips in midst of the uncertainty. "Imposters of the written language." I remark disgusted.

"I know. Did they even read its contents? How it exercised vivid imagery with stone-cold brutality? Oh, you could taste the blood on the inked pages from the suffering slaves of masked vengeance. They must think it's a joke, a mere story of longing. One that details tragic even before the beginning chapters!"

"Shh," I quiet Quinn as the applause dies down. "He knows what purpose he bares to the community. Let him confide in noble words of refute before aiding in his rescue. He is but the most eloquent professor of our time. Let him acquire his nature of truths. He knows who and what they stand for." The second I finish my rant, she nudges my shoulder to look down. Professor Woods glances up at us for a bleak moment to smile in what appeared to be gratitude. Never say I shouldn't have bit my tongue at the time. My cheeks flush a solid burgundy before retaining their normalcy.

"Refreshing indeed," he states unaffected by our intrusion. "My characters, although eccentric, stubborn, and headstrong, will exemplify a simmering bravery along with their courage. Boundless to the chains of the era they inhabit. There will be loss. There will be sacrifice. But without either compromise, their world will shatter, piece by piece. They laugh the joys. They cry the sadness lost from them. They offer the humility of man, just as their Gods had intended through fateful measures of reluctance. To find one's true wish above the waters of uncertainty -Why, that is what draws the blood-lust of romance. The tension of losing the most important, most shattered piece of ourselves. Could we sacrifice such in the darkness of such light over the ages that time hath not acknowledged appropriately?" Again, the crowd was lost on his words. Quinn and I stare blankly at the Renaissance Man in awe. Otherworldly, he definitely was. "Of course, you'll have to dwell within the inked pages to understand the rest."

Once finished, Mr. Cambridge speaks to the speechless throng of witches and wizards. "Charming, Mr. Woods. I can assure you, your words are never a waste on paper. Now, are there any questions your admirers would like to ask of you?"

"Oh, Ava-Rose's bitter brew. Let's get out of here before it's too late, and we get trampled by the witch holding six copies of the written beast. Please, I beg of you." Never say I didn't stand up for something. I merely wanted to avoid being crushed by Mr. Wood's drooling admirers. Quinn, though not drooling, was entranced by our Potions professor. So much so that she ignores my plead and slinks down the opposing set of stairs leading to the carved desk. "Quinn?" I follow, dually noting her much needed therapy session after this.

"Yes, a question over here?" The book keeper calls on the lucky witch with her hand raised.

"Do you have a wife, Mr. Woods?" Her faces flushes red, as does the witch standing next to her.

Nolan takes a deep breath, holding in a belated chuckle, before offering a direct answer. "Why, not yet." Another hand shoots into the air for another question.

"Are you in love?"

"-With my passions... for both Potions, literature and of course, teaching. I plan on an extraordinary year with my students." Selecting another hand in the air, he about deflates from the excitement of their questions.

"So, you don't have a significant other?"

"Not at the moment. I have passions for life. Anyone have any questions about the book?" Searching amongst the faces again, their hands descend downwards in diluted anticipation.

"Can't believe not a one of them has the decency, the respect to ask-" My friend steadily raises her hand as we stood aside from the crowd in the bookstore. "-a question?" I trail off as our professor's eyes grew in warmth at our postures. Posers, he knew not of our characters.

"Yes, Ms. Gracen. You have a question about the book?"

She takes a single breath, relieving the pressure of the number of eyes falling upon her. I was silent, awaiting her input. "You talk about losing the most important, most shattered piece of ourselves within the book. Have you, yourself, sacrificed something so great it impacted your life in light of the darkness you write so passionately about?" The room grew still, having time stand still. Something about his face concerned me. An alarming sense he was struck by an insulting emotion to the pieces shattered. A remembrance of the mourn. I couldn't deny his reflection of grief alike the loss of my own. I knew in that instance the passion which drove him to the brilliant madness he denied from the start.

"I may have unwillingly sacrificed things that were shattered from the start. Of course, their importance makes my darkness fade, little by little, every day. Light is a very odd enigma when surpassed by tragic events. It bleeds into the crevice of fateful woes. Time offers acceptance in such but never a willing compassion. Both my hopes and fears are written in stone and try as I might, I cannot carve a new path from the beginning. The only light that bares remorse is that of past regret. My book allows the reader to move forward through the tragedy to find their light, their hope. That's all we can ask of this day and age."

Breathless, we were. The resonance of clapping sounds after his speech this time. "Thank you, Professor." Quinn shakes his hand as a light flashes from the camera. "I have no words for your brilliance."

"Brilliance hath nothing to do with what our emotions encounter. Poetic souls are appreciative of one another, Ms. Gracen. I shall not forget your wit outside my class." Signing her copy, she beams with excitement. "You both share my passions quite well for your age." He winks, readying to sit and routinely sign the rest of his copies.

We both turn to walk away before the rush consumes us. "That tie really brings out the color in his eyes, doesn't it?"

"Maybe," I state, waving to Liana and Joslyn in the corner entrance as Fred and Brysen move to meet them. Quinn was still struck by passion that she hadn't noticed our friend's hair turn deep red.

"Ah, and that voice? You heard his voice, right?" She squeals.

"You mean, the thing he talks with?" Why, no. I thought my teaching came to me telepathically. "You better dial that admiration down a peg. Kingston might get jealous."

"Mar, seriously? Think his shattered piece was something he lost?" At this point, the thickened grace of witches and wizards moving to the side and out of the way was near impossible. We should have been out of the woods by now.

Pushing another cloak, I stumble into my past. His eyes as bright as the moonlight, yet bluer than the skies during daylight. "Someone he lost." I state staring up at my promised future with a withered heart, not yet carved in stone.

* * *

 _ **A/N:** Marisole has an awareness of the sufferings to those who surround her. What light shone that night in the castle where Haiden left her torn and speechless is mere fragments of whom she could be. Everyone longs for the familiar certainty of life beyond the single breath they take. And even if those last words could be put to ink, whose name would she carve on the stone, imprisoned from future promises? _


End file.
